


Snowbound

by tifaching



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Companionable Snark, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Snowball Fight, Snowed In, Wincest Reverse Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/pseuds/tifaching
Summary: After a bruising hunt Sam and Dean follow a mysterious note in one of Bobby's old notebooks to an isolated cabin where they're trapped by a snowstorm.





	Snowbound

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snowbound](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/493375) by sarasaurussex. 



> Written for gorgeous artwork by sarasaurusrex in the wincest reversebang. Her art with the two of them just relaxing in the Impala in the snow was so wonderful, it gave me all kinds of wincesty ideas. Lin

 

 

The sun’s bright in the sky, blue and cloudless as far as the eye can see. The Impala’s headed north, speeding up I-95 from Georgia where a poltergeist haunting a pair of creepy ten year old twins had been beaten, kicking and screaming back to whatever nightmare dimension had spawned it. They’re half an hour out of the driveway of the moldering gothic mini-mansion on the outskirts of Macon and Dean can still feel the dead, blue eyed stares of the girls burning into his back. He truly hopes no horrible death is in store for those pigtailed nightmares because they’d sure learned a thing or twenty during their ordeal and their very nice parents would probably be the first to suffer a grisly and untimely death.

“Sam,” he says, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I still think we should-“

“No.” Sam’s reply is definite. “We are not going back to take out a couple of little girls because they looked at you funny. I know you’re the child whisperer and all but not every kid is obligated to like you. And they pranked you pretty good a few times, you’ve got to admit.”

“That was the poltergeist,” Dean mutters, practically grinding his teeth, and not admitting a damn thing.

“You getting thrown into the wall and nearly skewered with the antique bayonet was the poltergeist. Swapping out your cassette tapes for Disney movie soundtracks was all them.”

“Shut up.”

“Eloquent,” Sam says and Dean can hear the amusement in his voice. “Is that any way to talk to the person who saved your crappy music collection?”

“I’m sorry, Sam. Is shut the fuck up, better?”

“Oh, much.” Sam shifts in his seat and lets out a soft grunt. While Dean was dodging Civil War era weaponry, Sam had been in the family’s lavishly furnished parlor, playing keep away with a china cabinet that was firing cut crystal goblets at him like a gatling gun. He’d managed to snag an oversized silver platter to use as a shield but his maneuvering slammed his knee into the corner of an antique roll top desk. The stream of profanity Sam let out gave even the poltergeist pause and Dean had dropped the last spell bag and shouted the banishment spell before it could regroup. Ten minutes later they were on the road and Dean hopes to hell they never come back this way again.

Dean’s a Rorschach test of bruises from his shoulders to his ankles and while he might have a mild concussion, that’s practically a permanent condition by now. It’s possible he let out a grunt of his own when he’d settled into the driver’s seat. “You all right?” It comes out almost automatically. “How’’s your knee?”

“Peachy,” Sam says, like it’s not swollen enough to make it look like he’s got a grapefruit stuffed up the leg of his jeans.. “How’s your head?”

“Wonderful,” Dean says, though it hurts like a son of a bitch. His vision’s clear and his brain’s not foggy so really, he’s a-okay. The road’s humming quietly under the tires and he glances grumpily up through the windshield and shivers, even with the Impala’s heat turned up to full blast. “We’re in freakin’ Georgia, the sun’s shining and it’s thirty damn degrees. What the hell’s up with that?”

Sam sighs just loudly enough for his brother to hear and glances up from the notebook he’s holding in his lap. “It’s December, Dean. The middle of winter. Even gets cold in the south sometimes. Be thankful it’s not snowing”

“Oh, I am. Trust me. So tell me why you’re insisting we head for New Hampshire instead of Arizona. What kind of fuglies are roaming around up there that are better than the ones we can hunt in a nice warm desert somewhere.”

“Uhhh,” Sam hooks a finger into the notebook, holding his place as he holds it up and waves it in his brother’s general direction. “Bobby had a cabin there.”

“What?” Dean grabs at the notebook, remembers he’s driving when the Impala almost swerves into oncoming traffic and puts his hands back on the wheel. “Where did you get that?”

“In one of the storage lockers Jody pointed us toward after-“ Sam trails off.

Dean doesn’t really need him to finish. The ache of Bobby’s passing still burns in his chest right alongside the pain of everyone else he’s ever loved and lost. “Right. Right. I thought I went through all the journals we found.”

“I spotted it right before we headed for Macon, buried in a cardboard box underneath about ten different versions of the bible. Didn’t have much chance to check it out before now, but look what’s inside the front cover.”

Dean glances over as Sam hold up the notebook to see his own name and Sam’s in Bobby’s precise handwriting. “For Sam and Dean,” he reads aloud. “What, the notebook?”

Sam shrugs, equally bewildered. “A hunt that he couldn’t finish, maybe? Looks like he traveled up there sometimes in the winter. “

“Seems like he’d get plenty of cold and snow if he just kept his ass right home in Sioux Falls.”

Sam looks at Dean and grins. “Maybe he wanted different snow.”

“Awesome.” Dean smiles back, the ache in his chest at the mention of Bobby lightening at the thought that he might be able to do one last thing for the old hunter. “Any mention of things that go bump in the night?”

“No.” Sam riffles through the pages. “Not yet. Got some notes about renovations and booby traps to avoid, though. When we stop tonight we can do some research on the area.”

“Oh, sure thing,” Dean says. What he’s got planned for when they get off the road are beers, burgers and bed in that order.

*

When Dean walks through the door of the Motel Six just off the highway in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, twelve-pack and take-out bag in hand, Sam’s busy on his laptop, left leg elevated onto one queen sized bed. The plastic baggie of ice settled across his knee has devolved into melted mess of ice water. Dean drops their supplies on the desk and heads out to replenish the ice bucket, then empties and refills the ice pack and hands his brother a cold beer and a couple of Tylenol.

“Thanks, man.” Sam pops the beer and takes a long swig, swallowing the pills and tilting his head back with a sigh. “Supposed to take those with water, you know.”

“Hasn’t killed me yet.” Dean steps up behind Sam and digs his fingers into the tightly bunched muscles of Sam’s shoulders. He smirks in satisfaction at Sam’s groan and rotates his kneading thumbs up and down Sam’s shoulder blades. “How’s the knee?”

“Better since it’s not cramped in the car. The swelling’s gone down a little since I got it elevated and iced. Doesn’t hurt quite as much to flex it.” He tilts his head back to grin up at Dean and shifts in the chair. “Think I’ll live, but I’m not really up to finishing what you’re starting here.”

Dean glances over Sam’s shoulder and snorts at the growing bulge in his jeans. “Could probably take care of that for you without jostling your knee if your ass wasn’t planted in that flimsy chair.”

“Tempting as that would be, I’m not moving in the immediate future, so quit it with the magic fingers or move on to plan B.”

“Plan B?”

Sam tips his head back again and reaches up to run his fingers along Dean’s lips. “You know. Plan _B_.” Dean rolls his eyes and gives Sam’s shoulders one last dig. “Plan B coming right up, you dork. But first things first.” He grabs the beer off the desk and stows in the room’s mini fridge. “Gonna be heating things up in here and I gotta keep my brews icy.”

Sam’s snort turns into a moan as Dean sinks to his knees beside him and runs his hands slowly up Sam’s thighs, then over the tent in his jeans. Sam’s ready to undo the snap himself, but Dean bats his hands away and does it himself, lowering the zipper snick by snick. Sam braces his hands on the arm of the chair and lifts himself up enough so Dean can slide his jeans and underwear down over his hips. “Geez, Sam,” Dean murmurs, running his fingers along the shaft of Sam’s massively engorged cock. “From a massage? You’re pretty fucking easy.”

“Dude,” Sam says between gasps, “I can get you hard by eating a popsicle. I don’t think you want to compare our respective sluttiness.”

Dean can’t argue with that, so he puts his mouth to better use by licking Sam’s balls instead. He sucks one into his mouth and then the other, burying himself in Sam’s scent. Sam’s hand tangles in his hair and guides him up, tongue busy with kitten licks along Sam’s shaft until he’s come all the way and cranks his brother’s motor up even further with long, warm strokes across the broad head. Sam’s hips jerk up, jarring his sore knee and he lets out a pained whimper that’s not at all what Dean’s looking for in this scenario so he settles his hand on Sam’s thigh, holding his hurt leg in place as his lips stretch over the crown of Sam’s cock and he takes him in as far as he can. His free hand alternates between Sam’s balls and the long stretch of shaft he can’t swallow down and Sam’s breathy gasps spur him on. His cheeks flutter as he bobs his head up and down and his tongue works in frantic swirls against Sam’s hot, silky flesh. As he always does, Dean gets lost in his brother’s musk and his tang and the weight of Sam’s cock in his hand and on his jaw.

“Dean.” The hoarse, strangled voice sounds a thousand miles away and Dean pays it no mind. “Dean!” It’s Sam, but Dean is totally immersed in everything Sam right now, so a word or two isn’t really going to register. “Okay, your choice.” Strong hands grip Dean’s head and hold him still as Sam’s hips rock forward once, twice, and then a guttural cry fills Dean’s ears as his mouth is flooded with the salty slick heaven of his brother’s release. He locks his lips down and swallows, luxuriating in the feeling of overflow cascading down his chin. Sam shudders in the chair and Dean works him through it, relaxing his mouth into gentle licks and kisses until Sam takes a deep breath and stills.

“Fuck,” he says in a wrecked groan. “Jesus, Dean, your _mouth_.”

With one last swirl around the head of Sam’s cock, Dean pulls off and smirks up at his brother. A languid pass of spunk covered tongue across slick lips holds Sam’s rapt attention and Dean shivers as his brother’s hand grips his chin, thumb slowly wiping through the come coating it before pressing at his lips. Dean takes it in and suckles it clean again and again until he’s dizzy with it and Sam releases him with a long breath, leaning back in the chair.

“Think we got it all,” he says with a slow smile and Dean’s heart stutters at the sight of it.

“Good to the last drop,” Dean says, attempting to lever himself smoothly to his feet. The attempt fails when the pain of his own battering that morning pushes past the euphoric high of having Sam’s cock in his mouth. It also doesn’t help that he isn’t twenty any more, and his knees are bad and his back is shot but he shoves those thoughts to the background. It’s the injuries. That’s all it is. Well, that and the bulge straining his own jeans. He catches himself on the arm of Sam’s chair before he can stagger sideways and totally embarrass himself, but his brother’s attention is laser focused on Dean’s crotch so he really doesn’t have to worry about Sam mocking him.

“So, it was good for you too, huh?” Sam reaches out to cradle the bulge in his brother’s jeans, and Dean grabs onto the chair arm harder. “Want me to take care of that? I do owe you one because that was awesome”

Dean does. He really, really does. But. “Owe me more than a hand job for that masterpiece, Sammy. It’ll be a start, though.” His lower back clenches as he bends to grip the chair and he winces. “What are the chances of you making it to the shower,” he asks hopefully. Sam’s hands are almost all he wants right now, but right up there with his most important needs is hot, pounding water to relax the painful knots in his muscles and he’s more than capable of getting himself off at the same time.

Sam glances down at his swollen knee and then back at Dean’s swollen crotch. Dean can see the decision in his brother’s grin. “You’re going to have to help me get naked and get in there but after that, you’re all mine.”

Sam’s stripped off his t-shirt well before Dean slides the jeans carefully down the rest of his legs but eventually he gets there, rolling the pants up and tossing them on the bed. Now that there’s a plan and a destination in mind, it’s kind of torture supporting miles of naked, muscular Sam the few feet to the bathroom without blowing his load, but he manages to get his brother safely into the tub before that happens. It takes him a bit longer because bending over to get his boots off is a process, but before long he’s behind the curtain with his brother under a pounding spray of hot water. Sam’s already leaning against the wall washing his hair.

“Hey,” Dean says, slapping his brother’s rock hard abs with the back of his hand. “Priorities.”

“My hair is a priority.” Sam wipes shampoo suds from his face and grins. “And I’ll do yours next.” Dean closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “But okay. Priority one.” After a quick rinse of his squeaky clean locks, he maneuvers Dean around until his back is pressed against Sam’s broad chest.

Dean shudders as one strong forearm wraps around his waist and the other drops down so Sam can trail his soap slick hand slowly up Dean’s thigh. “Sam,” Dean grates out between gritted teeth as his brother’s hand reaches his cock and long fingers tighten around the base.

“Don’t worry,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s neck. “Just going to make it last a little. Make it good. Because you’re ready to go as soon as I touch you and I’m not down with that.”

“Gnnnh,” Dean groans. “Just get on with it.”

Sam drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder and moves his other hand down, gripping Dean’s shaft and rubbing his thumb gently around the head of his brother’s cock. He sets to with a rhythmic twisting motion up and down, sliding his thumb over the head on every pass until Dean’s rocking desperately into his fist. Sam draws it out until Dean’s ready to pass out if he doesn’t get to come before releasing his finger cock ring and one last twist up Dean’s shaft. Dean practically whites out as white spurts up his belly and he throws his head back against Sam’s shoulder as he sags against him. Sam holds him up as the water rinses them clean, then tilts Dean’s head forward into the spray before lathering up his hair. Dean moans as Sam’s long fingers massage his scalp and Sam laughs.

“Should have just done this to get you off,” he says, biting gently on Dean’s shoulder. “Would have been quicker.”

“Mmmmm,” Dean agrees, his spent cock twitching like there’s a possibility it’s got any more going on tonight. “Like both ways.”

“You like all the ways,” Sam says, tilting his brother’s head under the spray again before taking him by the shoulders and pushing him upright. “Okay, my leg’s had about all it can take for tonight, so up and out, cowboy.”

“Oh, dude, sorry!” Dean has Sam out of the tub, toweled off and in a clean pair of boxers in record time. Sam’s eyelids are sliding closed so Dean takes him limping to the bed and gets him under the covers. He’s pretty beat himself so he throws the burgers in the fridge for breakfast and crawls under the blankets himself, snugging himself against Sam’s chest.

“Hey,” he remembers to say before surrendering to sleep. “You find anything in your research?”

“Not really,” Sam says around a yawn. “Some unexplained disappearances about fifteen years ago, but not much else. My knee hurting so much wasn’t great for my concentration.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Dean feels better since the shower but he’ll be feeling the poltergeist’s battering for a good long while. “We can stay here tomorrow for one more day of rehab and research before hitting the road, what do you think?”

“Throw in laundry and you’ve got a deal.”

“Deal,” Dean says before sinking into darkness.

*

Four days later, still knowing next to nothing, they wend their way through the hilly, forested back roads of northern New Hampshire, and pull into a the parking lot of a small market in the tiny town of Groveton. Dean’s out first, though Sam’s not far behind, his limp barely noticeable. Dean nods at the gas station next door. “I know we’re almost there. I think. But we should fill up before we head out just in case.”

Sam glances up at the cloud dark sky that’s been spitting snow at an ever increasing clip for the last forty miles or so. “I hope it’s not far. It’s nearly nightfall and this is getting nasty fast.”

The bell over the supermarket door jangles as they walk in and Dean looks at it with the undisguised disgust he saves for anything that gives away his position. The beer cooler’s in the back and he heads straight for it while Sam checks out the canned goods, loading up half a dozen cans of beans and tuna and hash at a time and dropping them in a cart. Dean’s still got a few of the twelve pack from North Carolina sloshing around in the cooler in the back seat but he grabs a case anyway. No way of knowing what’s in store at the cabin and how long they might end up staying.

“Hey, fellas.” The clerk comes through a swinging door from the back, wiping her hands on a towel draped over her shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you came in. Had some fresh venison come in this afternoon and had to get it packaged.” Sharp brown eyes give them a quick once over before sweeping to the snow falling outside and then back. “You staying somewhere close by?”

The door bell jangles again before Dean can answer and a burly, bearded man comes in, shaking snow out of his hair. “Hey, Laurie,” he says, giving her a nod. “Everything okay?”

“Fine and dandy, Kevin,” she says with a smile. “Just about to figure out how to get these gents where they’re going before they’re stuck here ‘til spring.”

“’til when, now?” Dean raises an eyebrow and Kevin laughs.

“She’s joking. Mostly. Lots of four wheel drive trucks in this town and most of them have plows to put on for winter. We’d get you out.” He pauses and his eyes widen as he seems to really see them for the first time. “Sooner or later. But she’s right, too. You better be headed somewhere close or you’re not going to make it. Not today.”

“Well, we’re hoping it’s close. The directions we got weren’t too specific.” Sam pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Kevin. Cabin four, Bear Trap road, Groveton, NH is all it says. “Can you help us out?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Laurie says, shaking her head. “How about you, Kev?”

“What’s your interest in the place,” Kevin asks, giving them another searching look.

“Belonged to our uncle,” Dean says, the weight of the past tense still almost too much to speak.

“Still not familiar,” Laurie says again with a sideways glance at Kevin.

“It’s okay, Laur.” Kevin inclines his head toward Sam and Dean. “They’re older now, but I recognized them almost right away. There’s pictures of them out to the camp. Sam, right? And Dean?”

Dean exchanges a quick glance with his brother. “Yeah, that’s us. You knew Bobby?”

“Knew?” Laurie’s voice is quiet. “Something happen to Mr. Singer?”

“Mr. Singer?” Dean smiles to break the tension. “Pretty formal.”

Laurie smiled back tremulously. “He tried really hard to get me to call him Bobby. But I was in high school when I met him. Adults were always Mister and Missus, or I’d hear about it from my mom. And I just never lost the habit.”

Dean steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder, aware of Kevin watching him like a hawk about to strike. “I understand completely. Much as I hate it, my seventh grade math teacher will be Mrs. Mountbottom ‘til the day I die.”

Laurie’s false smile turns into a genuine laugh. “Oh, I’ve got bunches of those too.” Her smile fades again. “But seriously. Knew?”

Dean steps back, gaze locked on the floor. Sam comes to his rescue. “He passed away a few years back.” His voice cracks as he continues. “And we miss him.”

“He go down swinging?” Kevin stares at Dean intently.

“Doing his part to save the whole damn world,” Dean says, daring anyone to disbelieve but Laurie just nods and smiles through her tears.

“Did that for our little town once upon a time. He was a good man.”

“He was that.” Kevin nods and sighs quietly. “I’ll guide you to the cabin. You can follow me out if that black beauty of yours is any good in the snow. And you won’t need that,” Kevin says, gesturing to their grocery cart. “We were expecting him so the place is stocked. Propane tank filled, pilots are all lit, wood pile replenished, fridge full.”

“My baby can make it just fine,” Dean says, staring out at the snow covered silhouette of the Impala through the window and letting the fact that these people knew Bobby and took care of him ease the emptiness in his chest. “Just got to get her some fuel before we go.”

“Why don’t you head next door and do that.” Kevin pulls on a pair of heavy gloves and zips up his jacket. “You closing soon, Laurie?”

“Gonna stick it out another hour.” Laurie wrinkles her nose at the scene outside. “You know, in case anyone has a last minute beer emergency. Helps living just down the street.”

“Well, be careful anyway,” Sam says, eyeing the snowfall outside. “You never know what could be out there.”

“Well, I could be eaten by a bear, if one was dumb enough to be out in this mess, but I’m not too worried about anything else.” She goes behind the counter and pulls out a shotgun with a battered stock. It’s a gun that’s seen use and means business. “Loaded with salt shells. I’ve got a revolver with silver and a pentagram tattoo. Mr. Singer didn’t just save us. He taught us to take care of ourselves.”

Sam looks at her and sees she means it. There’s old pain in her eyes registering that she knows full well there are far worse things than bears. There’s a look survivors get and like recognizes like. “What was it?” he asks. “We couldn’t find much information in our research.”

“Does it matter?” Laurie’s mouth twists into a scowl. “It killed ten people and in a town this size, that’s not nothing. It’s gone now. Dead. And nothing like it’s ever come back. But we’re ready if something does.”

“That’s why Bobby came back? In case something did?”

Laurie nods. “It came during a bad winter. Mr. Singer said that it came south from its normal hunting grounds. That’s why he’d always come then. Why we were expecting him now.” She shivers and looks out at the snow. “But it was a long time ago. Maybe nothing else will come. I mean, what are the chances that the same place would get hit more than once?”

Sam shrugs in what he hopes is a non-committal way and follows Dean and Kevin out the door.

* It’s quiet outside in the peculiar silence of heavy snowfall and the three men sweep armfuls of snow from the Impala’s windows and grill. A plow rumbles by, lights flashing, leaving piles of snow lining the road in its wake.

The snow is light and dry and it’s a matter of minutes to clean the car enough to drive. Dean eases the Impala over to the gas pumps, fills up and follows Kevin slowly down the deserted road.

Kevin’s is one of the many pickups in town with a plow and it comes in useful as they exit the main drive and make their way through wooded twists and turns down roads illuminated by only the occasional streetlight. The snow comes thicker and heavier with only the flash of red taillights visible through the swirl.

“I feel like we’re following Rudolph,” Dean gripes as his baby valiantly battles the slip slide of the white packed road beneath her tires. He’s trying to keep the perfect distance between losing sight of the truck in front of him and being so close he’ll slide into the back of it if Kevin stops short.

“You trust him?” Sam’s got one arm braced against the dashboard, the other within easy reach of several weapons. “He could be taking us anywhere.”

“He could.” Dean carefully steers around a slight curve in the road. “But we’re not going to find the cabin by ourselves, particularly in this maze and this weather. You got any reason for being suspicious?”

“Just everything ever, our whole lives.” Sam sighs, “But, no. Nothing in particular.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Dean says as three long blasts from a horn precede the truck in front of them slowing to a stop. Kevin slides out of the truck and comes back to the Impala as Dean lowers the window.

“Okay. It’s just up here to the right. I plowed it out last week but it’s gonna be tough to get your car into the drive if I don’t clear some out again.”

Sam opens his door and gets out into the storm. “Mind if I come with you?” Dean can’t see his face but he knows the smiling puppy expression by heart. Doesn’t discount the fact that Sam’s armed to the teeth. “I’ve never been in a snowplow and I’d like to see how it works.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow at Dean and shrugs at Sam. “Sure thing, son. Can’t guarantee it’s gonna be anything to write home about, though.”

Dean watches as Sam makes his way to the truck, careful where he places his feet to avoid slipping and reinjuring his knee. He glances back at the Impala before he gets in and Dean sketches a salute, mouthing _have fun_ like Sam can see him in the dark, through the snow. Sam probably will have fun geeking out in a mini snowplow, even if it is really a reconnaissance mission. Dean sits in the near whiteout, in the comforting rumble of the Impala and her headlights lighting the dark to the best of their ability and grips the steering wheel with white knuckles until the truck backs out of the driveway one last time and Sam makes his way back to him.

“So,” Dean asks, twisting his lip at Sam. “Is there a cabin in there?”

“Not that I could see.” Sam shakes his head. “Kevin says you have to go down a short path through the woods to get to it.”

“And Kevin is going to guide us down this short path, right? Just to be neighborly?”

“Yeah. He gave me a newer code to the door too than the one in Bobby’s notebook. Which he will be standing right beside us when we punch it in. God, we’re suspicious bastards.”

“We’re living suspicious bastards.”

Sam snorts. “The best kind to be.”

Dean eases the Impala into the drive next to Kevin’s truck and cuts the engine. The other man is already out, stamping his feet and waving his arms against the cold.

“Gather what you need, because you’re not going to want to come back out tonight,” Kevin says, turning on a flashlight and while Sam grabs the duffles from the back seat, Dean loads the weapons bag from the trunk. “This way.” Kevin leads them across the drive to an opening between two closely spaced trees. “Not an obvious path, but you don’t really want one, do you?”

“If our tracks get covered up are we going to be able to find out way back down this not obvious path,” Dean asks as they wend their way through the woods.

Kevin turns his light back down the trail revealing markings on the backs of the trees. “Not easy to find your way in. Easy to find your way out.”

“Bobby,” Sam says with almost reverent affection as they wade through the snow and Dean grins at his brother’s back.

“He probably had a free weekend.”

“How’d you know?” Kevin asks, flashing the light back at them.

“Just the way he was,” Sam says and Kevin nods.

“I helped him with some of it. There’s wards painted on the trees and strung up all over these woods. If the weather clears you might want to go out and check on them. It’s what Bobby spent his time on here. That and getting some rest. Man always seemed tired.”

“Our gig will wear on you,” Dean says. “What was he hunting for you all those years ago, anyway?”

Kevin is silent for a long moment. “He called it a Chenoo. It grabbed people out snowmobiling or skiing in the woods. Bobby tried to spare us, but basically it took them off to eat them.”

“Chenoo,” Dean says, snapping his fingers. “Chenoo. Yeah, I got it. They’re like an abominable wendigo. Humans who became cannibals and their hearts turn to literal ice. Good blast to the chest with a salt shell will melt the heart and take them out, though. Lots easier to get rid of than a wendigo.”

“Pretty much how Bobby described it happening,” Kevin says, trudging up a slight incline in the path. “Two shots dead center chest and it was over. After a dramatic death scene in the snow…”

“You and Bobby close?” Sam catches himself on a tree trunk as he stumbles over a concealed root.

“Not close as such. Helped him with some things. Shared some beers. Talked a little.” Kevin pauses for a moment to look back at them. “Know he thought the world of you two. Only thing other than strictly hunting he ever talked about.”

Dean tries to speak, but his heart is caught in his throat. He thinks the silence from Sam has him in the same condition. Thankfully, they’re saved from the need by their emergence into a clearing and the bright lights of the cabin’s porch. Out of the trees the snow is deeper by at least a foot and Sam and Dean slog along in the trail Kevin clears in front of them.

“The lights are on timers,” Kevin says, clomping up onto the porch. “Though you may want to go manual until regular daylight comes and goes again. I gave you the code,” he says to Sam punching in numbers slowly and clearly so both Sam and Dean can see. “If you lose it, there’s a copy in the wooden box on the mantle.” He leads the Winchesters inside, flipping on light switches, showing them the thermostat control and the settings on the two way radio on the desk in the living room. “Cell phones aren’t likely to amount to much out here. If you need anything the settings for me and Laurie are marked on the pad next to the radio. Internet’s spotty too, especially in bad weather but you should get what you need out of it. Generators out back in case the lines go down but that doesn’t happen much, believe it or not. “ He leads them through the house onto a large deck overlooking the back clearing. Snowshoes hang from pegs on the pine shingles walls and logs for the fireplace are stacked under a tarp.

Dean lets out a slow whistle as he surveys his surroundings. “Bobby had a pretty sweet place here.”

“The owners gave it to him, after.” Kevin lets out a soft sigh. “He fixed it up some.” He turns to head inside. “I’ve got to be heading back to town now. Think you two can figure the rest out for yourselves. Check out the woods when the weather clears, get some rest, go through Bobby’s things. Make yourselves to home. It’s what he would have wanted.”

“Thanks, Kevin.” Dean holds out his hand for the other man to shake and Sam follows suit. “For everything.” As Kevin heads off down the trail, Dean calls after him. “Hey, how long do you think it’s be before this breaks?”

Kevin looks over his shoulder and laughs. “Probably a day or two. Then you two can keep yourselves busy shoveling if you’ve got a mind to. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to plow you out before spring. If you get too stir crazy give me a call.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Dean calls after him, following the bobbing glow of the flashlight until it’s lost from view. He and Sam stay on the porch until the rumble of Kevin’s truck comes from the distance and it fades off into the night. “Think my baby will be okay down there?”

“Don’t think a deer’s going to break in,” Sam says with a laugh. “She’ll be fine.”

Dean nods as he follows his brother back inside. “Well, first order of business when this clears is shoveling her out. She’s not staying buried down there if I can help it.”

“First order of business,” Sam agrees solemnly.

“Feel like building a fire while I find the kitchen?” It’s getting late and Dean’s starving. “We can explore later.”

“Yeah, well l’m looking for the bathroom first. And I’ll dump our stuff in a bedroom.”

“Maybe two bedrooms?” Dean glances around, eyes darting heavenward. “I mean, Bobby…”

“Bobby’s not here, Dean. And don’t worry, I’ll figure out which room was his and we’ll take any other one for ourselves.”

Dean just shrugs and heads for the kitchen. The cupboards are neatly stacked with pots and pans and utensils shine in a pitcher on the counter. He pulls a beer out of the fridge and starts boiling water and rolling ground beef and spices into meatballs to make spaghetti. Eventually he hears the thud of logs into the fireplace and the smell of wood smoke joins that of frying meat.

Sam pokes his head around the doorway. “That smells amazing.”

“Pasta’s boiling, sauce is heating up. Should be ready soon.” Dean stirs the roiling pasta pot and tilts his head toward the cupboard. “Want to get out plates and forks?”

“Want to eat in here?” Sam nods at the spare wooden table. “There’s a couch with a coffee table by the fire might be more comfortable.”

“By the fire sounds good.” Dean drains the pasta and pours it onto the plates, covering it with steaming red sauce and a generous portion of meatballs. He hands the plates to Sam, grabs a few more beers out of the fridge and follows his brother into the living room.

The fire’s crackling and though the heat seems to work fine, the warmth is welcome. Dean sips his beer, placing it back directly on the table when he sees all the other rings decorating its surface. He scans the room as he eats, knowing Sam is doing the same. There _are_ pictures of him and Sam on the mantle, from smiling gap tooth kids to serious, death facing adults.

“There was always so much stuff at Bobby’s” Sam says, elbowing Dean in the ribs. “I think I remember that old cross on one of his bookshelves back in the day.”

“And that lamp was on his old desk as long as I can remember.” Dean sighs and slurps down the last of his spaghetti, swiping at the sauce with a piece of bread. He collects his empty plate and Sam’s and rinses them in the sink before putting them in the drainer. Bobby may not be here anymore but he’s not leaving the place a mess. When he’s finished he looks at Sam silently. The rooms are full of Bobby’s books and Bobby’s hunting gear and Bobby’s spell work icons and Dean’s not ready for any of it.

Sam understands. “Come on, man. Let’s turn in and start fresh in the morning. I found Bobby’s room and there’s a guest room down the hall.”

“Not Bobby’s room,” Dean says quickly.

“No,” Sam says just as definitively. “But the guest room’s got a great big bed with a down mattress cover and soft fluffy pillows. Might be just what the doctor ordered tonight.”

“Sam.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Sam says grumpily. “We used to sleep in the same bed at Bobby’s all the time.”

“Yeah, well, that was before we _were_ doing anything,” Dean shoots back.

“If you insist, we’ll be monks while we’re snowed in with nothing much to do for the next week, at least.” Sam grins at Dean’s stiff nod. “Though my knee’s feeling well enough now to fuck you senseless, so if you change your mind let me know. Oh, and we can jerk off in the shower, right? I mean, Bobby definitely knew we did _that_.”

“Bitch,” Dean says and dodges when Sam hurls a throw pillow off the couch at him before darting into the bathroom. By the time Dean sets up the coffee pot for the next morning and gets out of the shower, Sam’s out like a light. Dean scuttles under the covers and lies awake in the dark a long while before he drops off to sleep.

*

When dawn peeks through the window the next morning, it’s grey and dismal. Sam and Dean wake hours later to a few flakes of snow still swirling through the air. The smell of coffee fills the air and they quickly throw on their clothes to go get a cup or five.

Sam stands staring out the glass doors to the deck, noticing the etched wardings on them for the first time. He lets his gaze wander the rest of the cabin noting Bobby’s careful hand in everything he sees. “Dude,” he says between sips of steaming coffee. “There’s gotta be two and a half feet of snow out there.”

“Grab a shovel and start clearing it off,” Dean calls from the kitchen where he’s scrambling eggs and frying bacon. “After breakfast I’ll give you a hand.”

Sam feels like arguing a little, but his muscles do need a workout after being cramped in the car for so many days. And his brother going all purity on him. He tosses on his jacket and begins hurling large quantities of white powder over the railing and into the yard. He’s got a rhythm going, scoop/toss, scoop/toss and he’s thinking maybe he’ll get the whole thing cleared before Dean even gets out when he brother calls him in for food. He tosses a few more loads, leaving only the edge of the deck and calls it good.

They eat at the kitchen table this time. This room isn’t as rife with memories as the others seem to be. Their bedroom has a little TV with a VCR and a stack of titles Dean is itching to check out. If Bobby had left them specifically for him (and Sam he has to admit, about half the titles he wouldn’t be caught dead watching) they couldn’t be more perfect.

“You get dish duty this time,” he tells Sam when they’re done eating. “How much is left to do on the deck.”

“Just about done,” Sam says with a smirk. “You get to take the front. I’m going to start going through this place to see what Bobby had stashed here.”

“Knock yourself out.” Dean grabs his coat and a pair of gloves from a basket by the door and heads out to dig his way to his baby.

It’s crisp out and cold and Dean knows the shoveling will never be easier than it is now before any melting happens so he settles into a rhythm. He’s got the porch cleared and down the steps, along the path and halfway to the Impala when Sam grabs his arm and spins him around. “What?” he says, irritated that Sam has interrupted the mindless monotony of tossing snow out of his way.

“Jesus, Dean, you’ve been out here for hours!” Sam reaches up to touch his cheek and Dean flinches back from the heat of his touch. “C’mon in before you get frostbite.”

Dean pulls back and blinks hazily. It feels like his brain is frozen. “But I’m almost there,” he says, gesturing with the shovel toward the parking area.

“And there’s still a hell of a lot of shoveling to do after you get there.” Sam tugs gently on his brother’s arm. “Come on inside and warm up. Sun’s going to be going down in a couple of hours. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

“Okay.” Dean lets Sam lead him back up the path and hisses when the heat of the cabin hits him. Sam carefully works the knots on Dean’s snow crusted boots and removes them, along with his socks and jeans before wrapping him in a blanket and settling him by the fire.

“Now sit there and don’t move,” Sam orders and Dean sits there shivering and doesn’t move. Sam’s back before Dean even really knows he’s gone, shoving a cup of hot cocoa into his hands and draping a hot water bottle over his feet. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner, coming up. Don’t. Move.”

Dean leans his head back against the stone of the fireplace and soaks up the heat while Sam’s gone. It was stupid to stay outside for so long, but being in here, faced with everything Bobby- well, that may not work so well for him, snowed in with no escape for multiple days. There’s moisture dripping down his face that’s definitely from the snow in his hair when Sam comes back to replace his cocoa mug with one full of soup.

“Warming up at all?” Sam’s voice is tense.

“Much better,” Dean says and he is. His fingers and toes are tingling with returning warmth and the soup is radiating heat through his whole abdomen. “So,” he says, looking up at Sam with a small smile. “How was your day?”

Sam grins back at him with a little shrug. “I kind of lost track of the time too. Found some lore books and a couple of spell books that I’d never seen before. Oh,” he grabs a piece of posterboard from the coffee table. “I found the map of the wards Bobby placed around this place. I figure one of these days we can snowshoe out and check that they’re still in good shape.”

“After we shovel my baby out.”

“Dean, it’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

“She’s buried, Sam. Shoveling first.”

“Okay. Shoveling first. Weather report says sunny and warmer tomorrow. Should be a good day for it.”

“Find anything else?” Dean hesitates. “I mean, anything personal?”

“Well, I’m not snooping too hard in Bobby’s bedroom but there are more pictures of us in there. And Karen. And Ellen and Jo and Jodi.

Dean nods with a smile. “Didn’t check his draws for a banana hammock?”

“No,” Sam says with a shudder, “and I’m not going to. Shit!” Sam runs back to the kitchen to rescue the grilled cheese. He returns with just slightly over toasted sandwiches and hauls Dean up to sit on the couch before handing him his. He puts an arm around Dean and holds him close, mostly Dean’s sure, to make sure he’s not still a popsicle, but maybe for other reasons as well. “Feel like getting up?” “No,” Dean says, leaning all his weight against Sam. Snuggling close to your brother to keep warm isn’t incesty. It’s just good sense. They sit there staring at the fire until Dean’s eyes slide closed and Sam carts him off to bed.

*

The next day does dawn sunny and warm and like the day before Sam and Dean are not awake to see it. When Dean’s eyes finally squint open and he sits up with a yawning stretch, Sam’s side of the bed is already cool and coffee and bacon smells are blessing his nose. He pads through the warmth of the cabin to the kitchen in his underwear and a t-shirt and Sam laughs as he enters the kitchen.

“Making yourself at home?”

“It was usually breakfast wear at Bobby’s other house. He wouldn’t mind.”

“Bet there are a lot of things he wouldn’t mind,” Sam says with a grin.

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

Sam prefers his eggs over easy so Dean gobbles down yolk soaked toast and sausage before hitting the shower and getting dressed. “Let’s go, Sam. Today we rescue Baby.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam says with a mock salute.

*

It goes much easier with two of them slinging snow and Dean knows Sam means to keep an eye on him this time. It is sunny, though and relatively warm. That makes the snow heavier and harder to handle, but neither one of them is incapable of handling it. By mid-afternoon the path and a fifteen foot area around the Impala is cleared. Dean swipes armfuls of snow off of her until she gleams in the sunshine. Sam has long since stopped shoveling and his jacket hangs on the handle of the shovel he’s got stuck in the snow. Dean’s jacket hangs on top of Sam’s and his Henley is wet with sweat along his back as he shovels a path to the road.

“Hey,” Sam calls. “Are you planning on shoveling all the way back to town?”

“Maybe,” Dean calls back, turning his head just in time to catch a snowball to his cheek. He whirls with an outraged roar to see that while he’s been working his ass off, Sam’s been accumulating a significant pile of snowballs. He looks around desperately for somewhere to hide as Sam begins to pelt him with his arsenal. There’s only one refuge in sight and it’s one Sam wouldn’t dare defile. Dean grabs the driver’s door of the Impala and slides in on his belly, grasping the passenger door handle and pushing it open before a heavy weight drops down on his back and Sam’s voice rumbles against the back of his neck.

“You should close that door, Dean, were you born in a barn?: You’re letting all the cold air in.”

“Not that cold,” Dean replies, face pressed to the seat. “Besides your door is open too.”

“Yeah, but my door needs to be open, so I can brace my legs on the ground. Got way too big for doing it in the front seat a long time ago.

“Doing it?” It’s really a silly question because the long line of Sam’s cock pressed against his ass is a pretty clear indication of what Sam intends to be doing. Dean’s own cock isn’t at all opposed to the idea, but Dean still doesn’t think it’s a good one. “Sam…”

“It’s okay, Dean. Look.” Sam wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and lifts him to look out the window. All that’s visible is trees and a wide expanse of snow. “The cabin can’t see us.”

“Road’s right there,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah, I think we’re safe from that direction too. If anyone’s coming in a one horse sleigh or a snowmobile I think we’ll hear them.” Sam slides his hand between Dean’s legs. “Come on, you know I owe you one.”

“You don’t have any lube.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be cold.”

“No,” Sam whispers, hot and heavy in his ear. “It won’t.”

“Fuck,” Dean groans because Sam’s hands do things to him he can’t describe, and Sam takes that as the yes that it is as he undoes Dean’s jeans and pulls them down to his knees.

Sam doesn’t waste any time ripping open the lube and easing a finger inside his brother. It hasn’t been _that_ long since they’ve done it so he’s got two fingers inside, stretching and scissoring before Dean really recognizes the first, but he could be excused for that since Sam’s bumping his prostate with every other pass. Dean’s desperately humping the seat beneath him when Sam grabs him and flips him over, bending Dean in half. He stills his movements, just long enough to say “Ready?” Dean gasps out something he thinks is a yes and Sam must think so too because two seconds later, the head of Sam’s cock is stretching his hole and anything Dean says from here on out will be mostly incomprehensible anyway.

Sam pushes in the way he always does, with short, hard thrusts that drive Dean crazy. He reaches up to grip Sam’s forearm where it circles his thigh and pushes his pelvis forward to help his brother along. Sam doesn’t rush. Refuses. He always brings Dean along in his own time.

“I got you, Dean,” Sam whispers, shoving home with one last hard thrust, one hand reaching down to brush Dean’s cheek.

“Move. Move, Sammy, please, move.” Dean’s banging his head against the bench seat as Sam grips his thigh tighter and he grabs on to the side of the seat to keep from being propelled straight through the door when Sam begins to bang him in earnest.

Sam begins to move, slowly, slowly, brushing Dean’s prostate with every expert thrust. His breath is warm on Dean’s face and he drops his head down to swallow up Dean’s soft moans with kisses. Sam pushes Dean’s shirt up, exposing his nipples to the chill in the air and flicking them with his fingers until they’re hard red nubs.

“Sam, Sam, Sammy,” is all Dean can get out and Sam rocks harder into him, seeing how close he is to the edge. Dean’s ready to pop, so Sam lift his hips higher and hammers into him for the grand finale. Dean lets go with a high pitched moan and Sam bites down on Dean’s shoulder as he lets his own orgasm flow into his brother while he works Dean through his with his hand. Dean shivers on the seat, eyes closed, belly coated with the come that lightly speckles his face. He opens his eyes as Sam pulls slowly out, chest heaving as he looks down at Dean with satisfied eyes.

“Was it good for you,” he asks his obviously fucked out brother with a smile.

Dean tries to catch the breath to answer and fails, so he nods weakly.

Sam smiles wider and reaches over the seat to grab a towel. “Gotta clean you up before you start bitching about the upholstery.” He gently wipes Dean off and pulls his jeans back to where they belong and fastens them before doing the same to himself.

Dean could probably move if an abominable wendigo lurched out of the woods, but any other circumstance is basically beyond him now. He manages to haul himself to a sitting position along the passenger door, back braced against the dash and legs splayed over the seat. Sam stares at him a moment and then settles down as well, head on Dean’s lap as he stretches out along the seat. He’s asleep in minutes. Dean tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair and feels the Impala cradling the both of them. He wakes Sam as the sky begins to turn red and the air becomes chilled and they hurry up the rapidly darkening path to the cabin.

After a shower and supper of ribeyes and baked potato, Sam opens a spell book and begins taking notes. Dean sneaks off to the bedroom to watch an old VHS copy of the original Godzilla he’d spied in the pile on a shelf next to the VCR. When he slides the tape out of the box, it’s not Godzilla. Instead of the studio label it bears one with the words Sam and Dean written in neat block letters. Dean’s mouth is dry and he swallows hard and calls his brother to the room.

“Sammy.”

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s tone brought Sam to the door in seconds.

Dean holds up the tape wordlessly and Sam meets his eyes with far more excitement than Dean feels is warranted. Dean turns on the TV, slips the tape into the VCR and hits play. Bobby’s face appears on the screen and he begins to speak. Dean bites back a sob. Sam’s not so restrained. _Hey, boys._ Bobby draws a deep breath and blows it out again. _This is the last damned time I’m going to record this, so here we go. If you’re here watching this, and I’m not, it means…well, it means, I guess that my absence is permanent. And because yer mostly not idjits, you found my lockers and my notebook and you know I mean this place for you._ Sam and Dean exchange incredulous looks, but Bobby’s continuing. _I mean, everything is for you, but you know about most of the rest of it. You boys_ Bobby swallows hard and looks away _Aw, hell, you boys, well, you’re the best thing I ever did in my life. Helping raise you was my proudest accomplishment. Not that you ain’t made some boneheaded moves, but for the most part, you’re the best men I know. Best hunters too. Now this ain’t gonna be long and drawn out. Or sappy. So know that I…I, well, damn it I loved you. Both of you. Everything about you, even things that ain’t none of my damn business. So, you make yourselves to home here. It’s yours now. I want you to have this place as a refuge like I had it. The thing I was hunting all those years ago, ain’t comin’ back, nor anything like it._ Bobby looks down and blows his nose loudly in a handkerchief. _But check the wards anyway, ya idjits. And Dean, don’t worry, your damn Godzilla tape is in the drawer._

The tape whirs into static and the brothers sit there, stunned. Sam grabs a tissue from the box on the bed table and blows his own nose loudly. Dean just stares. “So, there’s not a hunt.”

“Doesn’t seem so, “ Sam says with a sniffle.

“And we don’t have to go out in twelve feet of snow looking for an Ice hearted wendigo.”

“It’s maybe three feet of snow, Dean. And no.” His face breaks into a smile. “We don’t. We should probably snowshoe out to check the wards, though. You know. Since Bobby asked.”

“And this place is just ours to crash in whenever we want.”

“Not just crash, Dean.” Sam pulls his brother close. “It’s _ours_ , not Bobby’s . Not anymore.

Dean smiles as he lifts his face to press a quick kiss to Sam’s lips. “Think I’m not up to another round tonight.”

There’s still doubt in his voice and Sam shakes his head. “No problem. We’ve got until Kevin comes to plow us out.”

“Or until spring,” Dean says grinning as he drags Sam down on the bed beside him, heart full from this last gift Bobby has given them. “And that works for me.


End file.
